Houdini
by DreamBrother
Summary: “Impaled in the Impala, Sammy,” Dean whispered. “How’s that for ironic?”


**Disclaimer: **Kripke's the evil genius behind Supernatural; I am not Kripke.

**A/N: **Set Season 2; pre-AHBL. Rated T for language.

References made, most specifically, to _Devil's Trap_ and _In My Time of Dying_.

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**Houdini**

Sam awoke to a headache. No, scratch that, not a headache – a fucking migraine would be a better word for the pounding in his skull, or more specifically, the right side of his head.

Not having opened his eyes as the pain had been so strong so as to circumvent even that simple response to waking, Sam worked on pushing past the pain, Winchester style – first, acknowledge it was there and then, although highly unwelcome, work around the pain and hope it gets the hint and goes away on its own.

As he was working on controlling the debilitating effects of his head-pain (headache was a term too loosely applied to justify its use here), Sam's other senses started coming back online even as he allowed himself a brief respite from the sharp jolt of pain that would inevitably occur whenever he decided to crack open his eyes and let even a sliver of light in.

The smell of burnt rubber assaulted his nose and the strangeness of it made him wonder where the hell he was. He could feel the sunlight on his face so he knew he was outside, or extremely close to a window either which way, and he knew he was sitting upright.

Right on the tails of his sense of smell, his hearing kicked in and Sam's confusion increased as the hissing sound that suggested smoke was billowing in the vicinity reached his ears, along with people shouting in the distance. As Sam's confusion ratcheted even further, a voice he always could depend on to calm him was heard:

"Sam"

Dean. There he was. If Dean was there, things weren't so bad after all; he could just ask Dean what was going on.

"Sam"

His brother's voice came again, this time tinged with worry and a hint of desperation. "Come on bro, you need to… open your eyes."

Sam's inner-radar chirped to life: something was wrong. Dean's voice - quiet, soft, _breathy -_ so unlike Dean, told him something was wrong, very wrong.

Damn it, he needed to open his eyes _now_, migraine be damned.

A cracked window flecked with red met his sight. Okay, so not a migraine then but another freakin' concussion. Dean was going to be so pissed when he found out that they'd have to get the passenger window replaced again - the car had barely finished being repaired since the semi- accident a few months ago.

Shit. Dean.

Shifting quickly to his left where Dean the perpetual driver always sat, Sam winced and closed his eyes again as the marching band in his head threw up a crescendo at the sudden movement. Bringing up a hand to hold his head with a groan, Sam really shouldn't have been surprised by the feeling of wetness on his forehead and around. What was a concussion without blood, huh?

"Sammy."

Dean. He really needed to check on Dean.

Counting to three and trying to put the pain-in-the-ass band on mute, Sam slowly cracked his eyes open again, glad that at least his last painful attempt to move made sure he was facing the driver's side of the vehicle.

Suddenly, the nausea that usually accompanied a concussion was no longer just to be blamed on the head injury, but on what Sam could see before him.

"Dean," Sam breathed out as he looked upon the horror in front of his very eyes, swallowing down the bile that was rising in his throat.

"Sammy, you ok?" Your head…" came his brother's concerned question, relief that Sam was awake clearly present in his tone.

Sam ignored the enquiry, his mind still transfixed on the image his eyes presented and which no amount of furious blinking was altering in the least:

His brother, sitting in the driver's seat, arms by his sides, a rebar going straight through his chest.

Or more specifically, because Sam was such a stickler for details if nothing else, a rebar going through hollow of the steering wheel, into Dean's torso, through the car seat and out behind it.

"Dean," mumbled Sam. "Oh God"

"Impaled in the Impala, Sammy," whispered Dean, a slight smirk appearing on his paling face. "How's that for ironic?"

This was not good. The pain in his head over-ridden by the deep pit of fear that had opened up in his stomach, Sam took a quick look around, desperately searching for any sort of help that might aide his big brother.

It only took a glance out of the cracked windshield to realize he and Dean were not the only ones who needed help – Sam's short term memory was extremely patchy, he could hardly remember the collision or what had caused it, but all the evidence was there to suggest a massive pile-up had occurred on the Inter-State, although Sam couldn't tell how far back in the chain they were, just that it was very bad.

The hissing sound Sam had heard earlier was coming from the steam rising from under the Impala's hood and up ahead, people were shouting, asking if everyone was okay, cries for help, babies crying, crunching of metal, everything.

What hit Sam most however, was the barely one inch in diameter neat hole in the part of the windshield in front of the driver's seat, surrounded by a much larger spider-web of cracks. This was where the rebar had flown through before embedding itself in his brother's flesh, the metal object most likely courtesy of the large truck carrying construction material which had overturned and was now lying on it's side in front of the Impala, the driver most probably dead – just like Dean might be if Sam didn't get his fucking head in the game right this minute.

"Alright. Alright," Sam spoke quickly, words meshing one another. He quickly looked back to his brother, the whole episode of surveying his surroundings lasting only a few seconds in real time. "You're fine, we can fix this."

Dean, who had his head leaning back against the seat, arms limp by his side, briefly laughed, the action cut short with a deep groan as his muscles grated around the metal rod piercing them.

"'s not fair, I'd just patched her up a little while ago."

Sam bit down a sigh at his brother's blockheadedness. Sometimes, he could swear Dean did it on purpose. "Not the car, dumbass, I meant you."

"The car can be fixed Sammy, not so sure about… me this time," Dean commented, his sentence breaking to allow himself to breathe, his right hand clenching and loosening in turn as he fought the pain and the desire to close his eyes and just… rest.

"You want the car repaired, you gotta be around to do it yourself, I'm not going to bother," Sam flipped back, relying on conversation and banter to keep his brother from giving in to the black void of unconsciousness. "So no going anywhere, alright?"

Reaching into the back-seat with one arm, he frantically searched for the worn blanket he'd remembered seeing lying there ever since he'd re-joined his brother on the road, never quite remembering to ask his brother why it was there but now he needed it to keep his brother warm, to delay shock as much as possible or at least, to minimize the effects since his brother's quiet attitude told him shock had already begun to take hold. Fighting down the urge to yell "Aha!" when his fingers wrapped around cotton, Sam inched his way closer to his only sibling, taking care to not jostle the seat at that would result in the rebar going through the cushions moving as well, causing further pain and damage to his brother.

"Don't know about you bro," Dean started speaking again after working up the energy to respond to Sam's comment, "but I don't think I'll be going anywhere without the Impala coming along. Finally one, huh babes?" Dean reached out a heavy arm and tapped the steering wheel for a second before his strength left him and his arm flopped back to his side.

"If I didn't know otherwise, I'd say you'd planned this," Sam shot back. "Don't move Dean, you're wasting energy." He started tucking the blanket around his brother, under the rebar, over his abdomen and legs, biting his lip as his hand came into contact with wet cotton as blood stained his brother's clothes.

First step complete, Sam tried to think about what else he could do. Trying to remove the almost two-foot long rebar would just cause his brother to haemorrhage on the spot and Sam would find himself the only Winchester alive in a matter of minutes, if not seconds. No, he had to work around the rebar. Even the medics would have to work around the rebar - the only safe place to take it out being the operating room. Now if only the medics would arrive...

Noticing his brother's silence, he looked up at Dean and felt his heart stutter in fear as he saw that Dean's head had lolled to the side, facing away from Sam with his eyes closed.

"Heyheyhey Dean, wake up." Sam reached out and started tapping Dean on his cheek, intensity increasing with each passing second that had his older brother remain unresponsive. The groan that Dean emitted after a particularly hard tap (okay, slap) was probably the best thing, paradoxically, that Sam had heard all day.

"Come on man, stay awake. No sleeping on the job," said Sam as Dean blinked his eyes open and latched them onto the youngest Winchester.

"Not on the job," grumbled Dean and Sam used the opportunity to slip his hand down to check the pulse point on his brother's neck – faster than Sam would have liked but not as weak as he'd expected. Now it just had to stay that way for the time being, until things got back to normal.

"Yeah, who would've thought we'd get injured and it have nothing to do with a hunt, huh?" replied Sam distractedly as he focused on the next step in first aid he was going to administer. Dean was still bleeding although not as fast as he would've had the rebar gone through and through, but Dean was still losing too much blood for Sam's liking. Swallowing down the nausea as he heard the _drip, drip_ of Dean's blood onto the car floor from the metal end protruding from the car seat, Sam chose instead to focus on the front – to immobilize the object and prevent further damage.

Stripping himself of his plaid outer shirt, he first placed one hand on his brother's shoulder before bundling up the cloth and placing it gently on the wound, around the rebar, in his brother's chest.

"Sorry Dean, but this is going to hurt a bit," Sam apologized as he saw his brother pale further at the pressure, his breaths becoming shallower and faster. "Just breathe normally, Dean."

Where the hell was the ambulance? Somebody would have called in the pile-up ages ago, so what the fuck was taking so long?

As though in answer to his question, a head suddenly appeared at the driver's side window causing Dean to jump in surprise and although Sam's hand on his shoulder and his chest prevented him from moving much, the shift still had Dean reaching for Sam's shirt with his right hand as he clenched his eyes against the pain, a groan coming from deep within him.

"Hey, are you guys alri-?" the stranger began but his voice faltered at the sight of Dean, or rather, what was _in_ Dean. Dressed in a dark sports jacket and sunglasses on his head, the man was hardly the EMT Sam had hoped him to be, just an average Joe and not even a doctor in disguise at that, judging by the way he'd reacted to Dean's injury.

"Oh shit," breathed the man and Sam almost snapped. He didn't need an ogling bystander, he needed an ambulance and he'd needed it ten minutes ago.

"Sir, we need your he-," began Sam but was cut-off:

"Yeah yeah, kid, whatever you need. Help is on the way – there are some pretty injured people out there but he…," the man hesitated for a second before looking back at Sam. "I'll make sure the paramedics get to your friend here as soon as they come. You have my guarantee."

Sam, grateful for the small kindness, started to thank him but the man waved him off:

"Just hang in there buddy," the man said to Dean, "help will be here any minute now." With one last look at Sam, possibly in an attempt to convey reassurance and strength, the man moved away and towards the direction from where the ambulance would hopefully soon be arriving.

Sam's eyes drifted back to his brother when he both heard and felt the coughs attacking his sibling and felt his fear increase at the redness on his brother's teeth and lips that hadn't been there a few minutes ago.

"God, Sammy," whispered Dean with uncharacteristic weakness in his voice.

"It's okay Dean, help will be here soon. With morphine. We both know how much you like morphine, right?" Sam hoped his voice landed somewhere in the vicinity of Calm and Soothing instead of Petrified and Panicked where he had currently set up camp. But even to his ears, the attempt to reassure sounded pathetic.

"Maybe it's meant to be," Dean said as he closed him eyes again and leaned his head back, the slight uplift of his chin causing a slight trickle to blood to flow out from between his lips and down the side of his face.

"Keep your eyes open, Dean," ordered Sam before asking, "What's meant to be?"

"This. 'S natural," Dean clarified barely, a slight flick of his finger motioning to the chaos surrounding them. "Nothing supernatural about it."

Sam frowned. He was getting a bad feeling about this. "Dean, what..?"

"Not feeling so good, Sammy," muttered Dean and Sam thought he'd changed the subject for a second, but no. "Dad wasn't supposed to die in that hospital, Sammy, I was, it wasn't natural. This, Sammy, this is natural. We shouldn't mess with it."

Dean's speech had drained him and it didn't help that each breath he took was causing more and more pain and the black void which was inching closer and closer was looking more tempting with each passing moment. The only thing counter-acting that was the presence of his brother by his side, Dean's hand fisted in his shirt but even that was fading, the strength in his arm disappearing and the soft feel of cotton was replaced by a denim clad knee as his hand fell.

Sam's eyes flashed in anger as he got his brother's twisted message: "When has anything in our lives ever been natural, Dean? Mom, Dad, Jess…what happened to you in that cabin and in the accident. The only natural thing in our lives has been our family, and you're going to let that be taken away as well? Just 'cause this is _natural_?

Not receiving a response from his brother, Sam shifted the hand that was on his brother's shoulder to grasp Dean's chin and forced him to look at Sam. Very clearly, he gave his argument:

"Dean. You weren't meant to die in that cabin, the car crash or that fucking hospital, and you sure as hell aren't meant to die here." Sam paused for a moment, and then decided to use his trump card: "What would Dad say, huh? If he really did give his life for you, how would he feel knowing you just threw that away in a stupid pile-up caused by some drunk asshole?" God, their lives were screwed up. "So do him a favour and fight this, dammit."

Sam could detect the flash of red-and-blue lights in his periphery vision and if that guy's word meant anything, professional help would soon be patching Dean up. He just had to make sure Dean didn't give up in the middle, as soon as Sam was away.

The hurt he could now detect in his brother's eyes no longer had anything to do with the foreign object embedded in his flesh, Sam knew, but he couldn't find it in his heart to apologize, not yet, not when what was the bare but harsh truth the only thing tying Dean to terra firma. If Dean wanted an apology, he'd get it when he was in Recovery and bitching about wanting to get the fuck out of hospital already.

Yeah, the apology could wait.

The stare-down between Sam and Dean continued way past the arrival of the EMT who leaned down to the driver's side window with an attempt-to-be-cheerful greeting of "Hello, I'm Anna; I'll be your saviour this evening." In the back of Sam's mind, he was aware of all this, aware that the EMT was unperturbed by the fact that none of the two occupants in the car responded for all that they were awake, and had begun to open the driver's side door in an attempt to get to the impaled passenger.

Dean blinked and Sam could breathe again for in the moment before Dean's submission, Sam had received the non-verbal assurance that he'd won:

Dean would fight.

**Khatum (The End)**

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This was originally going to be much longer, to explain the title, but I thought it ended fine here. The next chapter of my SN multi-fic, Blood On The Pages, should be up tomorrow night, or day after tomorrow. I also hope to get the stubborn Numb3rs one-shot done with weekend as well. Thanks for reading.


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